


X-Ray Alpha November Alpha X-Ray

by howsyasister



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Character Study, Gen, Gratuitous Friendship, Pre-Split
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1804756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howsyasister/pseuds/howsyasister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Ambrose is fucking crazy. Sometimes it's in the "I just found this on the ground. Gimme five bucks and I'll eat it" way. Sometimes it's in the "I'll eat your fucking face off, so help me god" way. The Shield has become the most elite force in their business because Seth and Roman know how to discern between the two and contain and weaponize the latter</p>
            </blockquote>





	X-Ray Alpha November Alpha X-Ray

**Author's Note:**

> Bless tumblr user heyspibsy for introducing me to the neuroatypical Dean headcanon I didn't realize I clung to so dearly.

Dean Ambrose is fucking crazy. Sometimes it's in the "I just found this on the ground. Gimme five bucks and I'll eat it" way. Sometimes it's in the "I'll eat your fucking face off, so help me god" way. The Shield has become the most elite force in their business because Seth and Roman know how to discern between the two and contain and weaponize the latter. It hasn't always been a perfect system, and to this day, they aren't sure if Dean was joking when he said he always chews gum to keep his jaw strong in case he has to chew through the leather straps again, but they still trust him with their lives. That's just the kind of shit you don't test a man on, anyway. 

It's another night in another hotel. Seth's laptop is hooked up to the TV, playing a stream of old matches that's more background noise than study material at this point. Roman is stretched out the wrong way on his bed, feet propped on the pillows while his hair air-dries over the bed's edge and Seth is gently stretching out his latest "not a big deal, no worries man" injury with earbuds full of screams and rattling guitars. Dean, for his part, is being fairly tame. Outwardly, at least. He's sitting in the bizarrely ergonomic office chair at the shit desk that nobody has ever used properly as a desk with a wad of gum between his molars and his thumbnail between his incisors as his free hand flexes around stale and mechanically processed air. He's got a knee tucked up just south of his chin while the other leg stretches long and far away from the rest of him, like he needs to have a foot on the ground in case of... something. 

It's loud, loud white noise in his head and thoughts that won't won't won't won't go away, knocking on the inside of his forehead. He's a good, sharp tug from yanking his entire thumbnail off. His teammates aren't even in the room- aren't even in his universe- as he feels his shoulders start to lock up and his hands itch for the doorknob because there's something he should be doing and he should be moving.

Roman has a sixth sense for this shit. Always has. He doesn't need to hear anything, doesn't even need to open his eyes, to know that Dean's in a Bad Place. He says he can feel the change in energy. Seth is torn between thinking he's full of shit and believing it to be a force of nature, while Dean hates the thought that he can be read at all. When Roman cuts the silence with his baritone rumble, though, neither of them would ever dream to protest.

"Dean." He still hasn't opened his eyes, but he throws an arm sideways and beckons for his brother in arms. Dean looks startled in the cornered pitbull kind of way, focusing in on Roman's lazy grace. "C'mere." 

Jerkily, Dean gets out of his chair, all of his weight rocking onto that extended leg before he puts the other foot down. It's a rocking birdwalk that gets him to the side of Roman's bed, before he sees Roman's hand pointing downwards and he figures he doesn't have much choice but plopping onto the floor. Seth is watching curiously now, looking up from his pike with a pang of guilt over not realizing there was a Situation. Roman sets a hand on the side of Dean's neck, though, and the miserable crank to their favorite madman's shoulders starts to unwind, like there was never a Situation to begin with. Dean's legs are too long to stretch out in the narrow space between the beds, but they lay relaxedly, at least, and he glances up to catch a fond half-smile from Seth.

"Hey."

"Yeah?"

"You need to dye your fuckin' hair. You got bad roots, y'know? People're gonna start thinking we're trashy."

Seth lobs his bottle of ibuprofen, pegging Dean squarely in the chest. It's when Roman feels Dean shift to yank his shoe off that his grip tightens.

"Boys."

"C'mon, we're not hurting anything-"

"You're killing my patience."

Seth pops out a raspy and drawn out, "haaah," at Dean, then settles back onto his bed.

"Don't think I won't sit you down, too." Seth wouldn't dare point out that he's already sitting down. That's not what this threat is.

Easy silence settles in again, Roman dozing lightly with his hand still on Dean's shoulder while Seth beats Dean in round after round of QuizUp. Subtly keeping Dean feeling connected and occupied is the crucial thing for keeping him out of that Bad Place on nights like this, and Seth and Roman are genuinely happy to do that for him.


End file.
